Bittersweet
by QueenTyZula
Summary: Cassandra is just one of Lincoln Clay's underbosses, or is she?


**Disclaimers: Contains spoilers for the game _Mafia 3._ If you haven't played it, you may not want to read this. Also, my favorite character wasn't available to tag in the summary, hence the OC tag. Anyway, enjoy, felt a bit of inspiration today.**

When asked about New Bourdeaux's favored son, Cassandra just shrugs with a heavy grimace. Behind the look, there are plenty of thoughts and memories, however.

It is widely known of her affiliations with the man. As the leader of the Haitians, she knew it would not be long before he caught up to her. She expected to be alligator food along with the numerous members of her crew that he had annihilated in a one man ambush.

 _He doesn't kill women unless it is absolutely necessary._ She had heard. _Such a gentleman, that Lincoln._ Lincoln Clay, the baddest motherfucka this side of the Mississippi, they called him. A towering giant with hands that could break a man's neck in one moment or dismember a platoon of Dixie Mafia idiots the next.

The man was a legend. And she was face to face with him. Sitting across the table from the legend with his other two underbosses to her right, Cassandra knew from the moment they met that he would be a pain in her ass.

It was a good thing she liked pain. Relished in inflicting it on numerous enemies.

Dixie Mafia was at the top of her list, at which Lincoln gladly made them the first victims of his infamous crusade for vengeance.

Witnessing the news columns flooded with headlines of the "Vicious and Brutal Killing of Richie Doucet" made her day. Followed by a victorious Lincoln swinging by her home in the cover of night.

"Doucet's dead, the hollow is yours," he claimed like the cold blooded killer he was.

"They say you strung him up on the old ferris wheel," remarked Cassandra without a hint to her true feelings, though she was secretly elated.

Of course, there was the matter of killing the leader of her henchmen, Baka, also. The two had a troubling past relationship that resulted in Lincoln's loved ones Sammy, Ellis and Danny being killed as well as her mob's beloved "fake leader".

Baka's memory would not be forgotten and she was damned determine to remind the veteran of that fact.

After offering him a drink, she explained her reefer operation and the man in charge of it all. Assuring the man that this would make them squared up in regards to their past.

Many things happened in the summer and fall of '68. A lot of blood had spread from their beloved Delray Hollow parish all the way to Tickfaw Harbor. She had been coaxed by her new boss and forced to join with two white men she never would have faced without a .45 in her hand. But here they were, acting all civilised with one another in this plantation house, awaiting Lincoln's next move.

Each of them had things to offer in exchange for more control over the territories in New Bourdeaux. Lincoln was blind to favor, but he was still a man. A black man, at that. Cassandra had reminded him of this each time, though he remained unaffected and divided the shares equally at each sitdown.

In all, he was fair and undoubtedly loyal. She had known that when his dumbass arrived at the doorstep of her Haitian hideout on that fateful night to do Sammy's bidding. One man against an army. She had only wished she could have seen him in action over in 'Nam.

"Ain't personal," she then heard, before a spray of bullets filled the room, taking her and his underbosses last breaths with it. Cassandra knew better. Sonofabitch would turn on them the moment he killed Sal Marcano after all they went through.

"So, Sleeping Beauty, looks like I gotta finish the gumbo before it burns us all to Hell early".

Cassandra shook her head, vigorously. Looking about the bedroom, she hadn't slept in since...since those Dixie Mafia boys took her only daughter Caroline away, along with her grandmother. Well, before Lincoln reintroduced her to the mothefucka.

She was still breathing and Lincoln was at her side void of any weapons in hand. It had been a dream. And for once, reality was better.

Instead of using those large hands that could squeeze a trigger in a hail of bullets. Lincoln curled them around her waist most nights now. Sometimes he held her so tight, it would seem he was holding his lifeline.

The craziest thing was that the voodoo queen did not mind.

Turning to face her lover and boss, she gave a wry grin, letting her fingers stroke the hairs on his chest before touching his lips with her own as lightly as she could, but of course Lincoln was never gentle and despite how their relationship started, despite the fact that they have never admitted to any relationship withe one another, she liked it that way.


End file.
